The Future is Female

Continued from: Don't Judge a Book by its Cover

As I stepped back to take in the full effect of Skylar's transformation, I found myself utterly captivated by this young woman. I was in awe. Clad in those sinfully sexy black pantyhose and nylon lingerie, her jacked body was a symphony of curves and shadows, a living, breathing work of art. And yet, despite the undeniable allure of her appearance, Skylar remained modest, her arms crossed protectively over her chest as if to shield herself from our appreciative gaze. 

My fingers itched with the desire to explore every inch of her newly revealed body. With a gentle touch, I swept her pretty hair forward, exposing the graceful curve of her back and the delicate nape of her neck. 

And that's when I saw it - a small intricate tattoo nestled at the base of her hairline. The Olympic rings, a symbol of athletic prowess and international recognition. 

Turning to face her fully, bracing for yet another revelation from this driven, remarkable young woman, I asked softly, my voice barley above a whisper. 

"Skylar, huni...were you in the Olympics?" 

"Yes, Ma'am," she replied, her cheeks flushed as she nodded shyly. "I won a silver medal in Sochi, I competed in fencing, Ma'am." 

Stunned silence greeted this latest information, both Summer and I struggling to process everything we had heard thus far. Skylar, our shy, unassuming guest, was not just a brilliant academic - she was an Olympian, she competed at the perfect human trade show! She stood atop an Olympic podium and accepted a medal for Canada.

There had to be a catch here, I was almost searching and probing for some kind of flaw within this flawlessness. Something...anything. Maybe she chewed with her mouth open? Could she have done a little jail time, or is she addicted to prescription meds...there must be a crack in her armour somewhere. 

Just as I was about to abandon these silly notions of imperfection, I noticed something that gave me pause. My gaze traveled over the smooth expanse of her muscular calves. There, marring the otherwise flawless canvass of her skin, were unmistakable bruises - not the BDSM kind, these were angry purple splotches that spoke of violence and pain. 

My breath caught in my throat as I took in the marks, my mind racing with possibilities, none of them pleasant. And then, as I forced myself to look closer, I saw them - faint fingerprint bruises, etched into the muscle of her upper arm, a silent testament to some unseen struggle. 

A chill of pure rage ran down my spine as the pieces began to fall into place. Skylar, with her shy demeanour and sudden interest in dominating men, bore all the hallmarks of someone fleeing an abusive relationship. Is this what led her to my Facility, could this have sparked her inner dominatrix to bubble to the surface? 

My gawd, I couldn't even! If some worthless fucking man, put his hands on this extraordinary woman!

The thought made my stomach sick with a mixture of anger and sorrow. How dare anyone lay a hand on this magnificent creature? How dare they seek to dim the light that shone so brightly within her? As these thoughts swirled in my mind, I knew I had to confront the issue head-on, no matter how uncomfortable it might be. 

Stepping closer to Skylar, I reached out and gently traced the edge of one particularly nasty looking bruise, my touch feather-light against her skin. 

"Skylar, my dear," I began, my voice trembling slightly with the weight of what I needed to ask. "I couldn't help but notice these, these scratches, these finger marks...is someone hurting you? Are you in an abusive relationship?" 

The words hung heavy in the air as I looked to Summer, who was almost in tears. I braced myself for the answer I assumed was coming and I feared I had overstepped, that I had shattered the fragile trust we had been building. But then, Skylar's eyes met mine and for the first time this evening, she let out a peal of laughter that rang through the room. 

The sound was so unexpected, so at odds with the gravity of the moment, that I found myself momentarily frozen into silence. 

"Oh, Mistress," she breathed, her hand flying to her mouth. "I'm so sorry for laughing. It's just...well, it's not quite what you think." She paused, gathering her thoughts, and I found myself leaning forward in anticipation, eager to hear the explanation behind those mysterious marks. 

When she finally spoke, her words came as yet another shock in a night already filled with revelations. "Ma'am, Miss Summer, thank you for your concern, but I'm fine," she began, her voice steady and clear. 

"I do MMA in my spare time, Ma'am. I have a black belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu." She gestured to the bruises on her leg, a wry smile creeping across the corners of her lips. "These aren't the result of abuse, Mistress. They're badges of honour for me." 

The little thing drew her feet together in the most adorable display of vulnerability, teetering on her high heels and nervously fumbling with her fingers. 

I stared at her in fascination, my mind reeling as I tried to process this latest piece of information. 

Boy, don't I feel like a horse's patoot! 

For the third or fourth time tonight, I began my question in the same, shocked and awestruck fashion.

"Skylar...sweetheart..."

"You're a cage fighter?" 

She gleefully nodded her head and gave us an adorable, "mmm hmm," in the affirmative. 

"I think it's safe to say, young Skylar, that you're the most interesting and remarkable woman I've ever had the pleasure of meeting." 

She ducked her head, a shy blush spreading across her cheeks. 

From Sarah Jane, to Cassandra and Bella, Nancy, my own beautiful wife Summer and now this enigma of a woman, Skylar, I could barely believe that these remarkable women were a part of my life. For too long, we have been told to sit down, shut up, and know our place. But I was never more certain in this very moment, that the future is female! 

Please join me in welcoming the newest member of the Facility, 

Goddess Skylar St. Germaine, PhD

Mistress Andrea 

xoxo

Continued in: Halloween Harem